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Updated: June 11, 2025
"But I know you, my fine Pergot, I knew you almost too well years ago; and then you were not so sensitive; then you were a good Royalist like me, Pergot." This time he fastened the man's look with his own and held it until Pergot dropped his head before it. "I don't remember monsieur," he answered, perturbed. "Of course not.
"Don't gossip of what his Highness says, but do his bidding, Pergot. What a fool are you to babble thus! How d'ye know but I'm one of Fouche's or Barere's men? How d'ye know but there are five hundred men beyond waiting for my whistle?" The man changed instantly. His hand was at his side like lightning. "They'd never hear that whistle, monsieur, though you be Vaufontaine or no Vaufontaine!"
The next instant the Duke stooped, and wrote his signature three times hurriedly upon the deeds. A moment afterwards, Detricand was in the street, making towards "The Golden Crown." As he hurried on he heard the galloping of horses ahead of him. Suddenly some one plucked him by the arm from a doorway. "Quick within!" said a voice. It was that of the Duke's porter, Frange Pergot.
There were but four men in the room the landlord, two stout burghers, and Frange Pergot, the porter of the castle, who had lost no time carrying his news: not to betray his old comrade in escapade, but to tell a chosen few, Royalists under the rose, that he had seen one of those servants of God, an officer of the Vendee.
The fine Pergot has a bad memory, like a good Republican, who by law cannot worship his God, or make the sign of the Cross, or, ask the priest to visit him when he's dying. A red Revolutionist is our Pergot now!" "I'm as good a Royalist as monsieur," retorted the man with some asperity. "So are most of us. Only only his Highness says to us "
The next instant the Duke stooped, and wrote his signature three times hurriedly upon the deeds. A moment afterwards, Detricand was in the street, making towards "The Golden Crown." As he hurried on he heard the galloping of horses ahead of him. Suddenly some one plucked him by the arm from a doorway. "Quick within!" said a voice. It was that of the Duke's porter, Frange Pergot.
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